The Ghost Who Walks
by Rye-bread
Summary: This character has no category, as far as I can tell. In the midst of the Diablo carnage, unleashed by Kim Possible's archenemy, Dr. Drakken, an ancient hero steps forth-a hero whom the world has forgotten.
1. Chapter 1

I want to say from the start. This not necessarily a crossover with Kim Possible--unless the plot bunny leads that way. Now, as to the names of some of my chars. I'm no expert on ethnic African names. I've just included some names I've heard and some French names, because French is spoke in many African nations because of the colonial history.

There is no category at Fanfiction-dot-net for this character. I feel this is an oversight. (Unless it's a copyright issue.) For more info on my grand tale of weaving this hero, Kim Possible, Indiana Jones, and Richard Leo Harte, the Coeur de Lion, together, consult my profile--and my stories: Kim and the Lionheart and Indiana Jones and the Face of Uzuki.

Kim Possible, Middleton, Bueno Nacho, and the Diabloes are the creation of Mark McCortle and Bob Schooley. The ghost Who Walks is the creation of Lee Falk.

The original animal partners of our hero were Hero, the horse, Devil, the wolf, and Fraka, the falcon.

I have updated the names. The horse--white, like his forbearer-named Alabaster, after the white rock, highly prized in antiquity for building material. The wolf, Garm, for the hellhound of Nordic mythology. The hawk, Horus, after the ancient Egyptian hawk-headed god.

This the story of a hero whom the world has forgotten. He is a relic from the days of wooden sailing ships, pirates and the colonizing of the world by the nations of Europe. And yet he is as modern as ethnic cleansing, the sex trade, and the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction.

Corruption, wars, and human exploitation are with us, unfortunately. We have not outgrown them. They are timeless. So is he. He is a hero whose time has come. Not the Phantom of the Opera, not Danny Phantom, not Phantom Stallion. Let us remember him.

He is Christopher Walker.

...from the Syndicated King Features synopsis:

Such is the riveting, myth-freighted legend of The Phantom -- "The Ghost Who Walks," "The Man Who Cannot Die," "The Guardian of the Eastern Dark." In the beginning he had been a half-drowned sailor, flung ashore on the terrible, blood-drenched Bangalla coast after pirates burned his ship and slaughtered his mates. The gentle Bandar pygmies, taking him to be a sea god of ancient prophecy, nursed him back to fitness and became his everlasting friends -- as the castaway faced his destiny, donned costume and mask and was reborn as the first of the Phantoms, scourge of predators everywhere.

"I swear to devote my life to the destruction of piracy, greed, cruelty and injustice!" he cried as he formally took "The Oath of the Skull" by firelight. "And my sons and their sons shall follow me!"

And in time there was a son. In time that son begat another, and thereafter that son begat again. After a while, there arose a dynasty of Phantoms, one after another, born into the legend then reared and rigorously drilled in the disciplines and the duties.

Through the generations these eerily identical jungle lords have prowled an evil world in the cloaks of many identities, and none today but the Bandar and a handful of other secret souls know that all are not one and the same.

**__**

THE GHOST WHO WALKS

There is one Bueno Nacho's on Bangalla Island--along with one MacDonald's, and Starbuck's in the capital city of Matewan. And so some of the Little Diablo figurines found their way onto the island.

It was the first weekend of May, 2005. At midnight, Saturday, New York City time, ten p.m. Friday night, Denver (and Middleton) time, and eight a.m., Saturday morning, Kuwait City (and Bangalla Island) time, a command signal began emanating from Bueno Nacho Corporate Headquarters a hundred miles west of Middleton, Colorado. It blanketed the world, bouncing off communications satellites and reaching even Bangalla Island, off the eastern coast of tropical Africa, near the much larger island of Madagascar, in the Indian Ocean.

Suddenly, the Little Diablo figurines enlarged--three feet, ten feet, twenty feet.

The Bandar tribe, the predominant inhabitants of Bangalla Island, are a peaceful people, used to dwelling under the safety of their Protector for several centuries. They do not keep a large cache of weapons on hand--some rifles, and pistols, for hunting, and some of the old weapons, spears, bows, and arrows, for display. There is a police force and militia in Matewan.

Their Protector was one whom most of the world considered a myth, an urban legend--except that the legend persisted.

The mechanized monsters stalked through the rural villages of thatched huts and clapboard homes, wielding their buzz-saw appendages and firing bursts of flame and electricity.

Several miles inland, deep in a cavern, two men hastily conferred. One was a man of color, an ethnic African, manning a computer terminal and short-wave radio. "Ghost-Who-Walks, I have been monitoring the world media. The situation is urgent. These mass-produced toys called the Little Diablos have suddenly grown into giant robot-like machines."

The other, a mixed African-Asian-European, was donning a purple skin-tight costume with boots and hood. He buckled on a belt with a skull buckle around his waist. He holstered two .45 caliber automatic pistols and slipped a knife in each boot. He drew the hood over his head and adjusted the opera-style black mask over his eyes. His hands were uncovered, except for the two rings on each middle finger. The ring on the left hand was silver and black, and had an upraised symbol, a stylized letter "P" composed of four curved scimitar blades. The ring on the right hand bore the emblem of a skull. "And how many are on Bangalla Island, Manuelito?"

The one called Manuelito peered at the computer screen and listened on his headphones. "Mugabi radios me that two are on the north end of the island. A radio message from Emil says that there is one on the south end of the island. And the live feed from the satellite shows that there are two five miles west of here at the village of Niobe's Well."

The Jungle Patrol was an elite cadre of commandos that assisted this Protector--in Bangalla, in Africa, and around the world. A network of followers to help him carry out his mission to oppose piracy and crime. They were Manuelito's eyes and ears--like Mugabi and Emil.

Some were from other lands, those whom he had rescued, in this generation, or the previous, and were now returning the favor. Some were drawn from the Bandar tribe. Membership was a high honor. In come cases, it was conferred from father to son, the next generation replenishing the ranks, like the Swiss Guard of the Vatican--like the role of the Phantom Himself. And the Jungle Patrolmen served their Commander with the same zeal as the Swiss Guard serving the Papacy.

"We'll start with the nearest two. Are there any naval vessels nearby?" the costumed man asked.

I detect radio transmissions from an American battleship bound for the Persian Gulf," Manelito answered.

"See if they have air support. I think this is too much even for us."

"At once," said Manuelito.

The costumed man put his fingers to his lips and whistled. There was a whinny and a bark. "Alabaster!" he called, and a gleaming white horse appeared from the direction of the cave mouth. "Garm!" he cried, and a great brown wolf loped from further in the cave, and stood at his side. He outfitted the horse with a bridle and reins, and an English-style saddle, without a pommel. He mounted the saddle. "The Phantom rides, Manuelito."

Manuelito waved. "Godspeed, Ghost-Who-Walks."

The Phantom rode in a canter to the mouth of the cave. He called "Horus!" There was a high-pitched _scree_, and a falcon settled on his outstretched arm. "My friends--" He gestured with the outstretched arm toward the direction of the Diablos. "--That way!"

Once outside, the horse Alabaster broke into a gallop. The hawk Horus took to the sky. The wolf Garm ran along side when the path was wide enough, and sometimes ahead, and sometimes behind when the path was too narrow.

As the little party closed the distance to the two Diablos, Manuelito kept in contact with the Phantom. "Ghost-Who-Walks! The passing American ship cannot give us aid. They themselves are dealing with several of the monsters on board. They wish us victory--but send their regrets. And I have been in contact with our neighbors. They also are beset by the machines. We are alone, sir!"

The Phantom grimaced. It was a terrible and unpleasant geopolitical reality that many of the nations on the coast and immediate inland of Africa were either ruled by ruthless dictators or beset by terrible civil wars--or both. Ethnic cleansing, religious radicalism, murderous warlords plagued the countries and their peoples. The dictators, the arms merchants, and the generals had little reason to love The Man Who Cannot Die, who eluded all efforts to kill or capture him, who seemed to pursue them like a Grim Reaper.

There they were. Two giant machines stalking along the forest trail leading from Niobe's Well.

The Phantom swiftly siezed a coil of rope from the saddle and dismounted. He fastened it between two trees across the path. Then he remounted Alabaster, drew a pistol, and fired a couple shots.

The bullets pinged off the armored heads. The attack drew a response. The two robots lifted their clawed arms and quickened their pace toward the Phantom.

The closest Diablo began to fire jets of flame from its claws. But it suddenly tripped on the rope and fell full length to the ground. The other Diablo snapped the tripline with a swipe of its clawed arm.

__

Too bad,thought the Phantom. Apparently, the Diabloes were programmed to respond to obstacles. But it was a good sturdy line, and had served for at least one round.

The Phantom cupped his hands and raised his voice. "Horus! Eyes!" Then he waved his hand in front of his face.

The falcon swooped in front of the second Diablo, brushing at the robot's eyes with the tips of a wing.

The robot drew back and swatted at Horus, but the bird only ascended out of reach. As the Phantom had guessed, the machine's eyes were not ornamental only, but functional. The head swiveled like a turret, tracking Horus's flight The Diablo turned, aimed it's clawed arm at the falcon, and fired an electrical bolt, which the bird barely dodged.

With his feet, the Phantom nudged Alabaster in his flanks. The man wore no spurs. Without hesitation, the horse bolted forward. It leapt over and cleared the fallen Diablo. Then it aimed a kick with its rear hooves at the legs of the Diablo trying to fry Horus.

The Diablo tottered, and toppled over on the other one. Both Diablos struggled on the narrow forest trail to stand upright.

The Phantom nudged Alabaster, and the horse broke into a gallop. They must reach Niobe's Well to see how serious the attack was.

Niobe's Well was a few clpaboard homes, a few huts, garden plots, a wooden church, and a local tavern.

Shouts greeted the Phantom as he broke into the clearing. "Ghost-Who-Walks! Giant machines have attacked us!"

Two little boys wept. One spoke. "Ghost-Who-Walks! We are sorry! Our father brought us the toys from Matewan! They grew into--into--the things!"

People were rushing toward the man. "Is anyone injured?" he asked aloud.

Heads shook.

"Gather your families! Run into the forest!" He glanced down at the two boys. "M'Kel! Jacques! This not your fault! This was a plot by evil men! These are weapons made to look like toys! Now--go with your families!" He personally knew most of the people on the island. He wanted to reassure them--but that would have to wait.

The villagers were running into the trees. The Phantom dismounted and drew his pistols. The booming footsteps of the two approaching monsters could be heard. He wracked his brain. He was used to battling assassins and smugglers--and even armed gangs. But how to fight gigantic walking machines.

A group of men approached, armed with shovels, and spades--and a couple shotguns. "Ghost-Who-Walks--we will not let our village die without a struggle," said one grimly.

The Phantom smiled dourly. More than twenty generations and four centuries earlier, the Bandar had stood by his ancestor to free themselves from the tyranny of the Wasaka, the people who had enslaved them all. He loved them dearly, and they loved their champion. He called to the two men bearing the shotguns. "Francois! Nuanda! We will fire in a volley at the creatures' heads when they enter the clearing! God willing, we will find a weak point! The rest of you--stand behind me!"

There was a buzzing in the Phantom's earpiece. Manuelito was calling. "Ghost-Who-Walks! I have been monitoring the media and playing a hunch! About an hour ago there was a localized appearance of these machines in the city of Middleton, Colorado--in America!"

The Phantom strove to remember. "MIddleton? Isn't that the home of Kim Possible?"

"Exactly, sir! My search has yielded a valuable clue! Kim Possible has a technical advisor--my counterpart! We have conferred, and he has sent me a schematic! The machines have a number of vulnerable areas. The most prominent is he crescent-shaped object on the robots' foreheads--it is an antenna! It is what receives the command signal!"

The group of men stared astonished at the costumed man--and shrugged. It was as the stories said--what they had heard all their lives. The Man Who Cannot Die could commune with the Unseen. He would deliver them as he had always done. And if not--they would make their last stand with him--as their people had always been prepared to do.

The two monsters had entered the clearing. They stood still for a moment, their heads swiveling from side to side, as though they were surveying the scene before laying waste to the village. Garm ran at them, growling. They both swiped at the wolf with their clawed arms, but he was too nimble.

"Well done!" said the Phantom to his unknown companion. He looked carefully. Yes! There it was! What had been the "D" monogram on the foreheads of the figurines in their miniature state had metamorphosed into an appendage that looked like the crest of a samurai helmet. He lifted up his arm and shouted "Horus!"

The trained bird landed on his forearm. The Phantom pointed to the Diablo's antenna. "There!" he shouted again. Horus sighted along the arm and extended finger--and with a cry, took flight again.

The falcon dropped like a stone. At the last second, it veered off from the top of the Diablo's head. The bird's outstretched talons grasped the antenna and snapped it off.

The robot dropped like a marionette whose strings were cut, and the ground shook with its fall.

The other Diablo's head rotated toward the fallen machine, and then toward the Phantom. It appeared to hesitate. Suddenly, it stiffened. In the blink of an eye, it shrank and dropped to the ground, an inert diabolical plaything.

The battle ended with dizzying abruptness. The group of men stood stunned. The villagers began to wander back out of the forest. Cheers broke out. Men, women, and children rushed toward each other and hugged.

Manuelito spoke excitedly. "Ghost-Who-Walks! Excellent news! Kim Possible has deactivated the transmission tower that broadcast the signal. All the Diabloes worldwide have been disabled."

Alabaster shook his head and snorted. "Acknowledged, Manuelito," said the Phantom happily. "Returning to the Cave."

Amid the rejoicing, the Phantom looked around the two boys. He approached them and stooped to their eye level. "Jacques, M'Kel."

They stared in awe.

"I want to reassure you. You did nothing wrong. It is as I said. These were machines invented by an evil man who gave them to children all around the world. And do you know who turned them back into toys again?"

Jacques answered shyly. "You, sir?"

The Phantom smiled. "No. It was Kim Possible."

"Kim Possible? In America?" blurted Jacques. It did not occurr to them to doubt their Guardian--or to wonder how he could know such things.

The Phantom stood erect and summoned Alabaster with a soft whistle.

A man approached. "We thank you, Ghost-Who-Walks. The next time we are in Matewan, we will not bring toys from a fast-food franchise for our children."

"The toys are safe, J'lomo," said the Phantom. "Next time, it will be another means they will use. And they will find us ready again."

"Yes, sir."

The Phantom guided Alabaster to the two Little Diablos. The horse raised its hooves and crushed them. Then the mounted man disappeared down the trail, followed by the wolf and the hawk.

J'lomo knelt by his two boys, M'kel and Jacques. "The Ghost-Who-Walks spoke with my father--your grandfather--when he was your age. He remembered it all his life, and he was a better man for it. Always remember this day, my sons."

And the two boys nodded.

**_to be continued_**


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Wizard and screaming phoenix. Good to see a couple familiar names from the Kim Possible continuum.

Mr. Wizard, your status as a seasoned Phantom fan will keep me honest. Doesn't it strike you as strange that FF-dot-Net doesn't have a category for our hero?

screaming phoenix--the omission of Ron Stoppable does not constitute neglect. I intend him to get his respect in this chpt.

Logan--no. Ron isn't the Phantom in this story. But--good news--there** is** a story like that at this site. The Phantom (id:3302824) by nkusenagi2 (id:1026184). It will appear using FF-dot-Net's search engine. I wish your critique was signed, so I could send you the link. Unfortunately, the story hasn't gotten beyond the 1st chpt. for a couple years now. I'm going to send him a message. If you do too, we might kick-start him.

Let me take time out to provide some background. The current Phantom, introduced to the world in 1936 by Lee Falk, is the 21st in the lineage. He set a couple superhero traditions. The first superhero to wear a skintight costume. The first superhero to have white mask eyeholes. (Personally, that always bugged me as a kid--but it's kind of a artistic custom now, like cartoon characters with four fingers.) He married his fiancé Diana Palmer in 1978--another customary thing--non-aging. They had twin children in 1979. Kit--who is the 22nd Phantom and the Phantom of my story--and Heloise. She will appear--or at least be referred to in chpt's to come.

There is an excellent article on the Phantom at Wikipedia, with links to wonderful informative sites by the dozens about our hero.

Now--for good or ill--Kim and Ron depart from our story. The Ghost Who Walks, meanwhile, will appear in a story of Kim and Ron's, Kim and The Lionheart. It is all tied together with an OC, Richard Harte. See my profile.

I know. OC's make people crazy. I beg my readers' forgiveness. To whet your interest, however, we have a crossover of the 20'th Phantom and Indiana Jones over in Indiana Jones and The Face of Uzuki

And if the OC bugs you--he's leaving too. It's pretty much a pure Phantom story from here on out.

In case the OC piques your curiosity, there's also Three Redheads and A Spider, Solo Mission, and A Very Team Possible Christmas.

For more on my take on Wade's family history, see chpt. 3 of Three Redheads…

Now--by the numbers.

Mark McKortle and Bob Schooley: Kim and Ron; the Little Diabloes; Wade Load: Erik the Synthodrone: Bonnie Rockwaller; Monique; Mrs. Load; Middleton; Lowerton; Lontaine; Drakken and Shego; Timothy North a.k.a the Fearless Ferret; the Kimmunicator; the Ronunicator; and Project Haephastus.

Lee Falk: the Phantom, a.k.a. Kit Walker; the Skull Cave; the Whispering Grove; the Deep Woods; the Jungle Sayings; Hero; the Wasaka; the Bandar; and Bangalla.

Me: Manuelito; Alabaster; Garm; Horus; Richard and Daphne Harte; Cyndi Larsen; Wade's full name; Mrs. Load's first name; and Lontaine's last name.

And not a farthing or drachma or pence do I receive for all my pecking on the keyboard.

_**THE GHOST WHO WALKS**_

_**chpt. 2**_

Back at the Skull Cave, Alabaster was stabled, fed, and rubbed down. "Good boy," the Phantom whispered. Like his father's horse, Hero, Alabaster was an invaluable ally, and deserved the best of care. A conscientious rider always took care of his animal before himself. Sometimes one of the Bandar, Manuelito, or another, would groom the horse.

Alabaster nickered and munched his food.

Garm the wolf and Horus the hawk were also fed. Sometimes they would catch their own prey, and sometimes they would eat of the scraps and food offerings left by the Bandar and the grateful inhabitants of Bangalla Island.

The Bandar people, who were sometimes called the Pygmies, or the Stunted, by their former masters, the Wasaka, and by the slavers, alone knew the secret of the Phantom and his family tree. As Kit Walker passed on his legacy father to son, the Bandar passed on their legacy to each succeeding generation. They were not his servants. They were his caretakers, his partners, in the great task of maintaining the heritage.

Like a knight, every Phantom has his steed. Arabian, usually white, bred from pure stock. And a faithful canine. Not a lapdog, but a hunter to follow the scent and tag the quarry. It seemed that even the animals of Bangalla Island participated in the covenant with the Guardian of the Eastern Dark.

The Phantom rejoined his mission coordinator. "How fares our young allies, Manuelito?"

He looked up from his monitor. "Young Dr. Load and I have been texting each other for the past hour."

"Dr. Load?" the man asked, surprised.

"Yes, sir. At the tender age of eight, Washington Demetrius Load achieved a Doctorate in Computer Science. But his life has not been entirely happy. The lad suffers from agoraphobia. His parents were both ordained Christian ministers, who cared for the poor and homeless in Lowerton, Colorado."

"You said 'were'," hedged the Phantom.

"Yes, Ghost-Who-Walks. His father, the Rev. Wade Load, Sr., was shot by a robber, and died of his injuries. His mother, Rev. Ophelia Load, has married again. A Lontaine DuPreé. They both continue the ministry, 'Mother Load's Perpetual Street Mission And Soup Kitchen'."

The Phantom pursed his lips. "How did young Wade cope with the loss of his father?"

"The boy became bitter and withdrawn. He relegated himself to a special room his parents had built for him. It was equipped with state-of-the-art electronic equipment."

"A sanctum. A Skull Cave, as it were,"

"Yes, sir. There he tinkered endlessly with his inventions and surfed the Internet, conversing with other withdrawn and troubled young geniuses."

"Like Thomas Edison or Leonardo Da Vinci--or Nicholai Tesla--puttering on their devices in seclusion. Or like St. Paul--writing his letters from prison. Or Benjamin Franklin--or Voltaire--corresponding with other contemporaries of their stripe."

Manuelito nodded. "Yes, sir. You are as much a student of history as I am of computers, Ghost-Who-Walks."

"How did he overcome his sorrow? How did he break out of his self-imposed silence and become Kim Possible's mission coordinator?"

"I cannot determine, sir. But I have a clue. Wade Load is also mission coordinator for--Team Harte."

The Phantom looked startled. "Team Harte? Richard and Daphne Harte?"

Manuelito grinned. "Exactly, sir. The children of Leo Harte. They both attend Middleton High School--with Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable. And they are doing missions.

"Are the two Teams doing missions together?"

"No, sir. The missions of Team Harte are done surreptitiously. Young Mr. Harte feels it would not be courteous to intrude into Miss Possible's affairs--even her missions."

"Does young Mr. Load say how he made the acquaintance of Mr. and Miss Harte?"

Manuelito shook his head. "No, sir. Dr. Load seemed hesitant to volunteer more information."

"Then I certainly will respect his confidentiality."

"He seemed very starstruck when I mentioned your name, sir," said Manuelito with a smile. "When I raised the possibility of you speaking with him personally, he appeared to almost faint with bliss."

The Phantom chuckled. "He certainly deserves my personal thanks for his information. Is the webcam on?"

"Yes, sir."

And back in Middleton, Colorado, in his upgraded computerized lab-dash-workshop-dash-bedroom, Wade Load waited impatiently. He wondered if he was being pranked. He didn't mind sharing valuable intel with other webmasters and tech advisors. It was really pretty obvious how to defeat the Diabloes. Drakken had gone for broke incorporating Dr. Possible's Project Haephastus technology, and then scrimped on a command signal relay system that could be easily jammed--or incapacitated by a child's toy, like the dart gun that Wade himself had adapted for Kim to use. He wondered if this Manuelito character was really the tech man for a living legend--and before his astonished eyes, the image came into focus on his monitor.

Oh, yeah. It was him. The Ghost Who Walks. The Guardian Of The Eastern Dark. The Man Who Cannot Die.

Wade gasped. He was familiar with super heroes. He had communicated with Hego, and Team Impossible. And he was a fan of the shows, movies, and graphic novels. He could tell the difference between an actor and the real deal. Timothy North came close to getting the look of a super hero while doing the two seasons of Fearless Ferret. But there was no mistaking the champion he was looking at for some guy in a rental costume.

That commanding voice. "Wade Load?" Even Timothy North or Steve Barkin didn't have such an authoritative voice.

And back in the Skull Cave, on Bangalla Island, the freckled face of a boy of color appeared on the screen, his mouth agape. "Sir? Is it really you? Do you really exist?"

"I assure you, Mr. Load, I exist."

Wade babbled excitedly. "Mr. Phantom, I have, like, a million questions! Have you really been alive for as long as the stories say?"

"Mr. Load, I have to maintain a certain confidentiality--just as you, I'm sure, have to keep a few secrets about Kim Possible."

"Yessir"

"This much I can tell you, in all honesty and candor. The Phantom has been meting out justice for more than four centuries--and any reports of his death have always been greatly exaggerated."

Wade's eyes widened and he mouthed a silent _wow_.

"Mr. Load--"

"Please, sir. Call me Wade."

"Alright, Wade. Can I ask how Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable are faring?"

Wade was astounded. "You remembered Ron's name? Nobody ever remembers Ron!"

I do, Wade. Courageous young men like him--and yourself--have a way of coming to my attention."

Wade blushed. "Thank you, sir. But courageous? Are you sure you're thinking of the same Ron Stoppable?"

"I am. Not everyone could do what he does--help Miss Possible save the world. Just as not everyone could do what men like you and my friend Manuelito do."

Manuelito grinned and Wade blushed again. "Th-thank you, sir."

"The world judges people by how they appear in public view, Wade. Does a man have wealth, or fame, or power? But you and I know a how important a person can be whom the world never notices."

Wade could only stare transfixed. His close association with other supers had not dimmed his hero worship of who he considered one of the world's most fascinating men.

The Phantom smiled to himself. He had little use for celebrity status, but he admired others, who, like himself, were willing to undertake a lonely, unselfish, and possibly dangerous path to defend and serve others. "You were going to tell me, Wade--how Kim and Ron were doing."

Wade stammered. "Uh, yessir--Kim and Ron--well--they won, sir.

"I'm glad to hear that. But if I may ask further, Wade--I'm wondering. I had my hands full with just a few Diabloes. As a matter of professional curiosity, could tell me briefly how Kim and Ron were able to combat the entire Diablo Armada, plus Shego and all of Drakken's usual crew of underlings?

Wade hedged. "Welll--"

"Is it a matter of confidentiality, Wade? I can certainly appreciate the need to keep secrets. And if that's the case, I won't pursue the issue."

"No, sir, that's not quite it." And he proceeded to relate the story of how Ron had nearly been done in by his unrequited unconfessed love for Kim, and how Kim had nearly been done in by a boyfriend who was actually--

"And so Erik was a synthodrone--an android created by Drakken--sir."

The Phantom nodded. It was all very interesting--and enlightening.

"Mr. Phantom," ventured Wade, "I gotta ask--you don't think less of Kim for getting fooled by--a fake boyfriend--do you?"

"No, Wade. It's the nature of evil to be deceptive--and the nature of people to be foolish. If the centuries have taught me anything, it's never to think less of a fellow hero. I've seen too many take a nasty fall--usually after they've won a major victory. I've had many foes who have resorted to subterfuge."

"Oh, and by the way," interjected Wade, "Kim and Ron have just gotten to the Junior Prom."

The Phantom smiled. "I'm pleased. Then Kim has also learned an important lesson--to look beyond the outer appearance of the one whom she might fall in love with, as well as the one who is her partner."

"Yes, sir. It looks that way."

"May we all be as lucky--to find those who will love us for what they see under our appearance--and that includes you, Wade"

Wade blushed again. "Thank you, sir." He hesitated. "Can I ask you another question, sir?"

"Of course, Wade."

"Mr. Phantom--do you have anyone like that, sir? A wife--a girlfriend--somebody who loves you? Some of the stories about you keep mentioning a 'Bride of the Phantom'."

"That's another one of those things that I can't let the world know, Wade. But consider--it would take an exceptional woman to marry a man who will never die--to share the dangers and the trials."

"It sounds like you have a lonely life, sir."

"Sometimes, Wade. Sometimes."

"It's been a real privilege to meet you, sir. Am I free to tell Kim and Ron that I met you?"

"Yes, Wade, you are. And thank them for the help they've been in foiling Dr. Drakken's plan. And thank you, too, Wade."

"You're welcome, sir."

"Consider us your friends, Wade. Please feel free to call on me if you three ever need help."

"Yes, sir. And the same from me, sir."

"It must be late where you are, Wade."

"Yes, sir. It's past midnight here in Colorado."

"If you were an average young man, I imagine you would be fast asleep."

"Yes, sir. I keep strange hours."

"As do all who serve and protect, Wade. I'll just say Good Night."

"Yes, sir. Good Night to you, too." And Wade logged off.

In Middleton, Wade sat in front of his keyboard and monitor, gazing at the blank monitor screen, as though in shock. _I have so got to tell Kim and Ron_, he thought to himself. He relished the idea of telling Ron. _"Dude! He remembered your name! 'Courageous young man!' he said!"_ Ron would so freak out.

He checked another monitor. Hmm. The Kimmunicator was transmitting. Strange. Who would Kim be talking to?

Aha! The Ronunicator was also operating! The new GF and BF were talking to--or texting--each other! Wade did a "thumbs-up". _Ron-Dog! My Man! You rock!_

Wade did some internet surfing. Pictures of the Middleton High Junior Prom had already been uploaded. Yeah. There it was. The two of them slow dancing--and kissing! Sweet!

There were other pictures. Bonnie Rockwaller, looking sour. Monique Knowles, gazing admiringly at Kim and Ron. Wade sighed. _Oh, my sister! Lookin' so fine! Wish I was older--or you were younger!_

There were the Harte twins, Richard and Daphne. _You guys! Isn't it time you told Kim and Ron that you two are doing missions, too?_

Wade was pumped--stoked--jazzed. The Diabloes taken out. Drakken and Shego put away. Kim and Ron dating. Images of The Kiss. Images of Monique wearing a one-shoulder formal gown.

And conversing with--him! The Phantom! And a screen-cap to prove it! This would make the most badical computer monitor desktop! And the accumulated images would make the most badical slide-show screen-saver.

Wade couldn't help it. He jumped out of his chair and did a variation of Ron's "Who's-The-Man-Booyah" dance. Quietly. The rest of the household was asleep. He pumped the air with both fists. He did an Air Guitar. This was adrenalin high. This was better than the Caffeine Power Drink Slurpster. He would be awake for the next two days. He would be wired for the next week--the next month.

Back in the Skull Cave, two men conversed.

"A most engaging young man, this Wade Load, I am glad we made his acquaintance," said Manuelito.

The Phantom nodded. "Kim and Ron are well served to have him in their service--as I am to have you in mine, Manuelito."

Manuelito bowed slightly. "Thank you, sir."

"He seems to be almost your equal in his computing ability."

Manuelito nodded. "A most perceptive and empathetic young man also. And if I may, Ghost-Who-Walks--seeing as how young Wade broached the subject--let me remind you of the duty your late father, God rest him, laid upon you--to find a bride--and insure that the Phantom will indeed live for another generation."

The Phantom folded his arms and gazed absently down. "I know, Manuelito. I've broken precedent by not taking a wife before taking up the mask of my ancestors. And it hasn't been for lack of trying."

Manuelito sighed. "I know, Ghost-Who-Walks. May the Almighty crown your search with success."

"I will be in my Throne Room, Manuelito."

Here was the Phantom's refuge. There was a huge high-backed chair carved of stone from the cavern wall, ornamented with an engraved skull crowning the chair back and a skull at the end of each armrest. It was his Throne. Here the Phantoms sat, and read, and wrote, and meditated.

Here were the journals, wherein the past twenty-one Phantoms had meticulously logged their adventures. The oldest almost five centuries old, they were yellowed and fragile. Manuelito had gone about the formidable task of transferring all the material to both hard drive and more durable hard copy--an ink and paper that would withstand the ravages of time for the coming centuries.

Here were displayed the personal effects of the Phantoms, their costumes, sidearms, and other weapons. Here was the skull of the Singh captain, upon which each new Phantom repeated the oath of the first, Christopher Standish Walker.

With a sigh, the man who was Christopher Walker's twenty-second descendant--sat down on the stone chair.

He rested his elbows on the arms of the throne and clasped his hands. He bowed his head, resting his chin on his hands. He prayed--and pondered. He himself was a Christopher Walker before donning the attire and taking up the heritage of the Ghost Who Walks.

_My old friend--Richard Harte. We scarcely knew each other a year. He and his twin sister __Daphne. Pastor's kids. Strait-laced, both of them. Hassled every day by the Popular Kids. The Gang. The Posse. The name changes every year. Then the home invasion happened. Cyndi Larsen's house. The Cheer Squad Captain. Her father was usually overseas on business. They broke in, looking for cash--because everyone knew he was loaded. I was ready to go and rescue her--until Rich insisted on helping._

_We got her out safely. Her kidnappers--they were commando-wannabes. But Rich--he handled himself like a ninja._

_And then I found out. He shared with me his secret. He lost his mother to a terrorist nerve gas attack in Tokyo. Had gotten some intense martial art training. Wanted to oppose terrorism like my ancestor wanted to oppose piracy. We really hit it off. And I shared my secret with him._

_But I had to leave and fulfill my duty. It's only been a couple years. He's still in high school. Seems like a lifetime to me since then._

_And then today. Talking to Wade Load. Somehow my old friend has entered the great fray. Good versus evil. Just like Wade, Kim, and Ron._

_Talking to Wade. He lost his father. As I lost mine. As I expect my son will lose his father. God willing, I'll find a spouse willing to share my life--and my legacy--and bear a son who will in turn die violently. Willing to leave the life she knows for the life of the Skull Cave and the Whispering Grove. I wish I could share my secret with Wade. Perhaps it might soften the hurt--the sense of loss that must still reside in him. To know how noble it is for a son to carry on his father's good work._

_But as it says in the Jungle Sayings--when the trees have ears, you don't tell your secret in the middle of the Deep Woods._

_What does it all mean? Rich and his sister--Kim Possible and her Team? Like destiny is unfolding._

The Phantom smiled to himself. The Jungle Sayings of his ancestors addressed that question, too. _Tomorrow's sun will shine on tomorrow's events._

_**to be continued**_

Another quick note. The _Jungle Sayings_, according to Lee Falk, are a collection proverbs uttered by the Phantom and the Bandar, and gathered throughout the centuries.

By Lee Falk: _Whoever sees the Phantom's true face will die a horrible death._

By :_ When the trees have ears, you don't tell your secret in the middle of the Deep Woods. _And, _Tomorrow's sun will shine on tomorrow's events._

Next chpt. Classic Phantom storyline and foes. Pirates. Vaya con Dios.


End file.
